


The Scars Remind Us

by reigningqueenofwords



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Talk of cutting, talk of self-harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-31
Updated: 2019-03-31
Packaged: 2019-12-27 02:39:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18295181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reigningqueenofwords/pseuds/reigningqueenofwords





	The Scars Remind Us

“ _Go away, Dean!_ ” You yelled from your bed. You were on your back, staring at the ceiling. It was just one of those days. The boys didn’t know about much from before you were a hunter. You liked it that way. All they knew were the basics. You name, birthday, favorites, where you grew up, and why you got into hunting. When you started hunting with them, you didn’t see a need to tell them anymore.

Apparently Dean didn’t feel the same way.

You heard the pounding on the door again. “I’m not going anywhere.” He yelled. “I know something’s wrong. Talk to me, damn it!” Groaning, you rolled off the bed and went over to the door. Opening it, you stood off to the side, an unamused look on your face. “ _See_ , was that so hard?” Back to humor. You rolled your eyes and shut the door. “So, care to tell me what’s bothering you?”

Flopping back on your bed, you shrugged. “It’s just not something I like to talk about, that’s all.” You told him quietly. “This way, no one can view me differently, and I have something that no one can use against me. It’s _my_ problem, not yours.” You hadn’t looked over to him.

Dean moved so he was on his side, resting on his elbow. “You’re one of us now, sweetheart. It’s our problem, too.” He said gently. “Seeing you upset bothers us. I suggest you spill the beans.”

You glanced over to him and sat up. Taking a deep breath, you pulled off your sweater. Thankfully, the weather had been cool enough to pull off wearing it all the time. On your arms were little silver scars. The longest a couple inches long. They went from your wrist, up. You looked down at your hands, ashamed. “There’s more, _but_ they’re on my thighs, and hips.” You muttered, eyes tearing up. It wasn’t that you were regretting the cutting. It wasn’t that you were regretting finding a release in something that wasn’t the best idea. You were crying because you’d become addicted. You were crying because you were afraid. Afraid of getting a lecture, of getting yelled at, at being tossed from the little group, and most of all, of Dean looking at you.

Dean sat up, taking your arm gently in his hands. His fingers gracefully traced some of them. Neither of you spoke. It was like he was committing them to memory. “When did it start?” He asked quietly. Your head snapped up, looking at him. Out of all the questions you’d expected, that wasn’t one of them. 

Licking your lips, you steadied yourself. “I was fourteen.” You told him honestly. It was still hard to talk about. It still made your stomach turn, brought up memories you tried to shut out.

“How long?” He was keeping his questions simple, nothing that could make you lose it. He wanted to be there for you, but wasn’t sure how. Other than to be a shoulder to cry on, and an ear to listen.

“ _Every day_ for five years. Sometimes a few times a day. When I was a little older, it wasn’t daily, but I still struggled with it.” You looked at your arms. “It’s an _addiction_ , Dean.” Some people called people who self-harmed ‘weak’ or an ‘attention seeker’. If you wanted the attention, why would you hide them? Wouldn’t you flaunt them?

He laced his fingers with yours. “I won’t ask why, because I’m guessing that it’s bad enough that I shouldn’t make you think of it, right?” You nodded. “I won’t tell you not to do it, because I know that’s not going to work. _And_ , I’m sure that you’ve heard that whole bullshit lecture before.” You gave a half-assed chuckle at that. “I knew it. There may be days where you slip up, but _don_ ’t beat yourself up. Okay? I’m here, Sam’s here, and Cas is here. If you feel comfortable enough to talk, please, _please_ , talk to us. I don’t care if it’s one in the morning and I’m on a hunt. Call. We’re here for you.”

You looked at him, eyes wide. “No one’s ever said that before. They always make it sound like I’m a horrible person, and that if I slip even once, then I can’t really be trying.” You explained.

Dean shook his head. “Those people are _dicks_. Now. What do you say to some ice cream and whatever movie you choose.”

Smiling, you nodded. “I’d like that.” You went to put your sweater back on when Dean stopped you.

“No need to hide anymore. This is _your_ home, too. If you want to wear it out, fine. Just…don’t feel the need to hide behind long sleeves when you’re here.” He said, standing up, not letting go of your hand. Finally, you didn’t feel pathetic, or ashamed. You knew it would be a battle every day, more so on the hard ones, but now you knew that you weren’t alone. 


End file.
